Heads Will Roll
by iusedtohateapples
Summary: New York three years after graduation. Santana still loves Brittany. She always has. But it's been two years. People change. And now she's lost her heartbeat. She should be dead. But she's not. She's undead. Undead and hungry... AU Brittana. R&R!


**Hey guys!**

**First fanfic EVER, so, please be nice, okay? ^_^**

**Set three years after graduation and the whole Glee crew are in New York, except Brittany who moved to LA two years prior. Very much AU (Santana never admitted her feelings for Brittany) and the rating may change in the future.**

**Enjoy! :D**

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><p>Santana pulled her coat closer, pushing her quivering palms deeper into her pockets. It was November, late autumn, and already the city of New York had been swathed in a thick blanket of frost. The air was sharp, the overcast sky smeared with pinks, yellows and, where the sun bunched together beneath the clouds, great puckering swirls of the deepest red. She narrowed her eyes, nestling her chin against the chill and silently cursing herself for not leaving Puck's earlier. Why she'd agreed to play the drinking game with him and the rest of the boys for an extra half hour she had no idea.<p>

She bit back a disgruntled sigh and nosed her scarf. It was times like these when she wished her old roommate lived closer or, at least, didn't call her at some unearthly hour asking if she could come over to _'talk_'. She was already half an hour late, and the blonde had never been one for waiting patiently. Her phone buzzed for the fifth time that evening and she let it ring out, not wanting to be on the receiving end of another one of her afore-mentioned-ex-roommate's rants about punctuality. She'd gotten enough of those the week before when they'd arranged to meet up for dinner at six and she'd instead arrived two hours later (she'd unintentionally bumped into Mercedes at Tina's and had gotten into a deep conversation with her about the significance of Breadstix). Obviously, the blonde hadn't understood the importance of this and they'd ended up not speaking to each other for 48 hours. Eventually though, she managed to regain the blonde's affections by agreeing to buy her coffee every day for the rest of the year. The memory made her smile slightly. She loved Quinn. She really, honestly did.

Shivering for what seemed like the umpteenth time that evening, a cold breeze snapping her out of her reverie and the absent frown returning to her face, Santana quickened her pace. The buildings reared up, flanking her either side as she walked, the bustling crowds increasing in size as she neared the centre of the city. Her phone buzzed again and she rolled her eyes, finally giving in – she figured that the longer she left it, the angrier Quinn would become. She braced herself, folding her free arm across her chest in an attempt to hold onto to some of her much-needed body heat.

"**Hello?"**

She was met with a strangled screech. Like a cross between a dying cat and a broken blender. _**"Where the hell are you?"**_

She bit back a snort. **"Five minutes away."** A tall man with blonde bangs raised his eyebrows as he passed her, a small grin pulling at the corners of his mouth. She turned and shot him a smirk over her shoulder**. "Just chill out, Fabray."** He blushed, and gestured to the bar at their right, a place she'd gone many a time with many different men – it was close and she knew the owner, which meant unlimited refills. She silently shook her head and pointed to the phone. He nodded, looking surprisingly disappointed, offering her a quick wave of farewell before continuing down the street. He was headed in the direction of Tina's and she watched, almost captivated, as he entered the small coffee shop, a curious expression on her face.

"**You're late. **_**Again**_**."**

The Latina sighed, the sound of Quinn's voice pulling her out of her thoughts. **"Yes. Well done. And I totally just blew off a cute blonde for you. So **_**please **_**tell me that whatever you're dragging me to your place for is worth it."**

"**Girl or boy?" **

She could hear the smirk in the blonde's voice. She scowled. Quinn was the only one who knew. She'd told her the second week of senior year, and she'd regretted it every day since. **"Quinn, you're a bitch and I hate you." **She spotted the hotdog vender she passed every morning and gave him a tiny wave. He grinned and tipped his cap in acknowledgement, holding up a dog for her expectantly which she reluctantly declined with a shake of her head. **"Boy. Man. Very cute." **she said as she continued round the block. She could see Quinn's building in the distance. **"Think he might know Tina." **She heard Quinn sigh. **"What?"**

There was a pause. She set her jaw. Santana knew why. **"Just hurry up and get your arse over here, ok? I ordered Chinese and it's getting cold."**

She licked her lips. Chinese food: her favourite. Well, aside from sushi. **"Sure sure. I'm like practically here anyway." **She stopped and looked up. Her old apartment building – littered in the artificial light of the street-lamps and mottled with takeaways and old beer cans – stared back at her. She smiled, a little nostalgic. It hurt a bit, to remember, so she closed her eyes and shook her thoughts free. It was better to forget anyway. Live life for today, right?** "Later, Q." **She dropped her phone back into her pocket and disappeared through the double doors, winking at the leering doorman as she passed.

Brittany ran.

Her footfalls fell heavy on the hard-packed earth. Her neck muscles strained, pulsed. Strangled snarls escaped her throat with each heaving breath. And all she could hear was the blood pumping in her ears. Her heartbeat, wracking against her ribs. And her thoughts, which thrashed like wildfire, crashing against the battered remnants of her skull.

She was in LA, right? Hollywood. Well, that's where she had been. But now, as she fell to the grass, her knees, shoulders, hands shaking, she felt the great shadow of the Empire State building staring down at her. Like a beacon of hope. A tell-tale sign. She blinked. _New York_. She was in _New York_.

She flinched, her body suddenly thrown into a fit of spasms. She collapsed. Her skin, her flesh. She could hear it. She could taste it. She threw her head back. Blood now, in all its metallic bitterness, running down her throat. She lapped it up, hungrily, a small whimper playing on her tongue. She sniffed, ignoring the tears slipping down her cheeks. They traced her jawline before falling into the grass. She just wanted more. Her stomach flexed, and she saw it then. The couples in the park. She saw their hearts, their bones, their muscles. Each intricate inner-working of the human body, she saw. And she wanted it. She wanted it so much. She was sure. She wanted to taste, to eat, to devour. Feel the soft silk beneath her fingers, the touch of milky flesh. Hold it, drink it and then rip it apart.

But at the same time, sobs fell from her lips. She was so scared. So confused. What was happening? The fact that for once in her life something about herself made no sense, terrified her. She'd always been so certain, so sure. Her personality was black and white. The lines never blurred. But now it seemed that everything she knew, or thought she knew, made no sense whatsoever.

The convulsions slowed, and she rolled onto her stomach, blinking away the tears and pushing herself back onto her feet. She ignored the burning need to attack, to destroy, blocking the sheer hunger from her thoughts, and ran again, out of the park. The city stared her down, the sidewalk clawing at her feet. She ignored the crowd's odd looks, the laughs, the disapproving stares, the snide remarks about the blonde girl who'd had too much to drink. She just needed to run. It was a need that out-weighed logic. But it made all the sense in the world to her.

Her muscles ached with fatigue and, as she passed a small cluster of tourists, she slowed again. A blonde-haired boy, – he looked around twenty – who'd been buying a hotdog a few moments prior, eyed her curiously. She looked down at her mud-caked arms smeared with red and brown, at her jeans that'd been practically ripped to shreds, at her lack of shoes, at her bare stomach, her lips blowing upwards trying to dislodge the leaves hanging from her bangs. Despite the situation she felt the tiniest of blushes crawl onto her cheeks and she turned away.

It was all dark now – night time – the last beams of sunlight gone. Eaten. Still, the city was very much alive. The smell of cooked spices floated up her nose and she flicked her tongue, her eyes desperately searching for the source. It was _delicious_. Like before, in what she could only guess was Central Park, when she'd seen the people for the first time, only now it'd intensified, the ravenous hunger for whatever it was nearly bringing her to her knees. Her nostrils flared and she felt her stomach clench. Snarling in frustration, she threw herself aimlessly in its direction, accidentally falling through a set of double doors and landing in a mangled heap on the floor.

She lay there, motionless. Perhaps, if she'd known any better, she would've guessed that this is what dying felt like. Like all the pain and loss and hunger in the world all bunched up together, just crashing down on your shoulders. On your _you_. Too _feel_ all of that. It would've helped, she supposed, to know this. But she didn't. And that really wasn't a problem either. What worried her was that dying was quick. You die and then you die. There's no limbo. For a split second you feel all of that, all of _it_. But that's all. A split second, and then you're gone.

But this was different. She hadn't died. She was still feeling it. She knew she was feeling it. And from what she could guess, she'd been feeling it for quite a while now. She bit back another sob, the marble floor cool against her cheek. She just wanted her cat, and she wanted her ducks and she wanted her One Tree Hill box-set.

Reluctantly, she let in another little want of hers. Almost instantly, it swallowed her up. Like flames dragging her under. She felt warm. Complete.

But she doubted that even that 'want' would want her in return now. It'd been two years. Two long years, and now she was stuck in the limbo between life and death. With her tongue dry and her stomach growling, she closed her eyes. Maybe if she fell asleep, maybe, just maybe, she would wake up and find Lord Tubbington sprawled out on her stomach. That she would turn to her side and find a certain slumbering Latina. She would kiss the tip of her nose, mumble sweet nothings into her neck…

But then she remembered and her eyes snapped open. They were hungry. White. Pupil-less. She didn't feel the coldness of the floor or the heat from the lights. She could no longer hear her heartbeat pounding her head. Thoughts of morality, of right and wrong, of _life_…gone. She just wanted her skin. Her flesh. She wanted _her_, in every shape and form. The smell of cooked spices returned and she looked up. Her tongue traced her lips. She grinned.

Well, it seemed it was settled then.

Brittany S. Pierce was a zombie.

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><p><strong>Review? I'll give you cookies? ;D<strong>


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